Confessions of the Frost Giant Prince
by Shakespeare33
Summary: The sad, complicated, and sometimes humorous (and unbiased) story of my Life. You may be surprised.
1. Innocence

**Chapter One**

Innocence

* * *

_Any human can tell you (with firm resolve) that life is not fair. Ever._

_I, speaking from experience, would like to take that one step further and assure you that absolutely NOTHING is fair. Not Life, nor Death, nor damned Immortality._

_And now I can hear the wheels of your brain turning. You are most likely thinking that I sound impossibly bitter. If not, you're at least thinking I am impossibly bold; how else could I speak of Death and Immortality so confidently?_

_Unless I was a God. Which I am. Or was, anyway._

_Do I sound confused? I am not confused, simply misunderstood. And I have a way of making things complicated. Am I evil? Righteous? **Neutral**? By the All-Father, I would rather be anything than neutral...!_

_Let us suffice it to say that for now I am the humble Narrator of what you are about to read. I am not telling this story to put anyone down. I am not pointing fingers at anyone. This is simply going to be an honest recollection of my past. Once you have heard it all, I will leave it to you to be the judge._

_Shall we begin?_

My first memory is burned into me, as vividly bright as any sun. I am lying on my back on a sort of cushion, staring up at a high, painted ceiling. Obviously I must have been an infant; I was unable to sit up or even to roll over. I remember feeling quite helpless and foolish, for I have always been an independent fellow, even then.

My clear view of the ceiling is interrupted by a face: a round, rosy face which houses a pair of strikingly blue eyes. (Naturally at the time, Reader, I did not know how to name one color from another, but I did instinctively know they were striking. It might have had something to do with his black eyelashes, I really don't know.) I stared into those eyes with fascination. I think I smiled.

"Haha!" The rosy face broke into a stupid, one-toothed grin. (And yet of course he was still handsome even then, the Bastard.) His small hand pats my head, a little too firmly. I wiggle in annoyance.

Then suddenly another face appears. This face is beautiful, serene, and smiling down at me with so much tenderness that even though I am too young to understand much about emotion, I feel the warmth of that smile seeping all through me. I know I am smiling now.

I can't recall Mother's exact words but I believe they were something like, "Not so hard, Thor. Be gentle." I do know that her voice was light and flowing, like music. I wanted to hear her speak again. I wanted to feel the vibrations of her voice against me. And I distinctly knew how I could achieve that.

I wailed.

It didn't take more than a moment, her arms gathered me up and then I was laying against her chest with her hand gently cradling my back. (And Reader, if you think I was good at getting my way then, you should see me now.)

What a lovely, lovely feeling that was, to feel comforted, favored, and safe. Oh and she was talking again, too. More like humming, she was singing a little melody to me. A breeze came in from somewhere, cool and airy like a dream. From my little nest in her arms, I glance wearily over at the smiling blond buffoon who is watching me intently with those piercing eyes. I can already tell he is annoying, but something about his charming little smile makes me feel warm, happy, _pleasant_.

I know he likes me. And I like him. I like both of these strange, fair-skinned beings.

If only I'd known then, how quickly that like would spin into love. And how that love would destroy me.

Oh Reader, do not be deceived by this innocent beginning.

We have only begun.


	2. And So My Sins Begin

**Chapter Two**

And So My Sins Begin

* * *

I would never admit this to my brother (or to anyone in Asgard for that matter) but the first few years of my life were absolutely perfect. Not necessarily because things _were _perfect, but because I was so naive that I was oblivious to all the _imperfect _things going on around me. Back then I could be satisfied with the simplest sort of life.

If only things were so easy now.

But back to the point of this chapter; all my peaceful contentedness was brought to a halt one fateful morning at the breakfast table. Yes, Gods do have to eat. We are actually much more alike to you humans than Odin might have you believe.

The royal table was set with platters upon platters of beautiful food, goblets of ambrosia juice, steaming bowls filled with spiced pudding. I stared at it all and felt my small stomach (I was three years old) grumbling with desire. There wasn't such a thing as 'saying grace' at our family table (I mean seriously, who are we supposed to pray to, ourselves?) so I got right to work and started putting food away.

I've always been a big eater. I may look 'skinnier than a shadow' (Thor's words, not mine) but I can eat enough for at least three men and still go back for more.

"Where is your brother?"

I glanced over at Mother, who was buttering me a piece of bread. She looked beautiful; the sparkles of her gold robe somehow enhanced the golden-red waves of her long curly hair that fell in perfect ringlets down her shoulders. I remember wondering at that moment why I couldn't have inherited the pleasant, sunbeam color of her hair; why fate has chosen to make me raven black.

(If you know anything, Reader, then you know this should have sent off some kind of warning bell in my head. But I was very young then, and very foolish. And most of all I was far, far, too trusting.)

Mother set the bread down in front of me and then glanced up. Her eyes sparkled like a pair of emeralds. She smiled softly, obviously still waiting for an answer.

I swallowed the food in my mouth and politely wiped a imaginary speck off my lips with a napkin. "I don't know where he is," I lied, meeting her gaze steadily. "I would assume he is still in bed."

"Hmm," said Mother.

"I am not responsible for my brother," I added smoothly, turning my attention down to the buttered slice of bread on my plate.

And that was my first sin. A lie. To my sweet Queen Mother, no less. And in the following years, I would become frighteningly good at deception.

After that first lie, however, my heart was pounding and blood roared in my ears. I felt short of breath. I felt rather warm. Quickly I reached for a drink, and kept the cup up in front of my face for longer than was necessary.

I'd just lied, and it was Thor's fault.

I mean, I didn't know _exactly _where he was, but he was definitely not in bed. He had slipped out of our bedroom in the early hours before dawn, and run off somewhere with a few of his rowdy friends.

I'd awoken while he was pulling on his little boots (he was a very clumsy and noisy child, and still is, in my opinion). I sat up in our bed and watched him moving around in the dark, obvious preparing to leave.

He saw me watching him and quickly shuffled over to my side of the bed. "Sh, sh, go to sleep, brother." He pushed on my shoulders, forcing me to lie down.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"I'm just going... somewhere," he answered vaguely.

I stared up at his shadowed face, at his glimmering blue eyes, and wondered if he realized what a stupid answer that was. "Fine," I said. I felt the familiar surge of satisfaction that I always got whenever I remembered that I was the mature one, even though he was two and a half years my elder.

"Don't tell anybody," Thor said.

I might have made a snarky remark, but as he spoke he was pulling the covers up and doing that thing where he tucked them all around me, which I always enjoyed. I didn't want him to stop. I also loved the fact that he felt he could trust me. So I just nodded my head.

Before he slipped away he planted a clumsy kiss on my forehead, which filled me with so much tenderness for him that I could hardly breath for a moment. I knew he was being wicked but I also knew right then that I would not give his secret away.

And now I had lied.

Imagine what that does to a three-year-old. I absolutely adored my brother and was loyal (obviously to a fault). I had spoken the lie without hesitation, and didn't even regret it. Or maybe I did, just a tiny bit. But not enough to take it back.

It was a white lie, really. That was what I told myself. A white lie, uttered in love. Or so I thought.

Thor had damned me.

Damn him.


End file.
